And, without more ado, he turned his back and went up the path to Clarendon.
XII
I COULD TELL SOME THINGS
When Croyden had got Parmenter’s letter from the secret drawer in the escritoire, he rang the old-fashioned pull-bell for Moses. It was only a little after nine, and, though he did not require the negro to remain in attendance until he retired, he fancied the kitchen fire still held him.
And he was not mistaken. In a moment Moses appeared—his eyes heavy with the sleep from which he had been aroused.
“Survent, marster!” he said, bowing from the doorway.
“Moses, did you ever shoot a pistol?” Croyden asked.
“Fur de Lawd, seh! Hit’s bin so long sence I dun hit, I t’ink I’se gun-shy, seh.”